Something to Sayhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com
Life as a full time working mother in New York CityFri, 10 Mar 2017 07:12:20 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/bae2490f5fa61a002e946900a8844690?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs2.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngSomething to Sayhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com
So much noisehttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/10/05/so-much-noise/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/10/05/so-much-noise/#respondMon, 05 Oct 2015 17:27:39 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/?p=490Continue reading →]]>The dog tore her ACL.
The not-so-much-a-baby-anymore still isn’t sleeping.
The almost 5-year-old won’t try anything new to eat.
No one wanted to eat dinner last night.
We’ve been fighting all weekend.
The cat screams at me at 5 am every day.
The laundry needs to be folded — even the socks.
The litter box needs to be cleaned.
All of the clothes in the toddler girl’s section are pink-i-fied.
My niece’s college is on alert because of a possible threat.
Animals are being abused at an alarming rate and with a disgusting level of brutality in this country.
Women can’t get ahead professionally if they have children.
There are armed military personnel in Port Authority Bus Terminal when I arrive in the morning.
Cancer.
A police officer beat an unarmed woman he stopped for an alleged seatbelt violation in front of her two children, causing a concussion and long term memory loss.
There was another bill introduced today attempting to regulate women’s bodies.
Another unarmed black man was shot by a police officer.
The Syrian refugees need help desperately.
48 million Americans live in food-insecure households.
There was another school shooting. Lawmakers won’t do anything about it.
A fifth grader shot an 8 year old child with a shotgun today. You won’t see it on the news.

These are all thoughts, words, headlines, and issues that entered my brain through one channel or another within the last 12 hours. The issues swirl around in my mind like one of those timewarp vectors in Austin Powers.

I work in New York City. Today, during my lunch hour, I felt a palpable level of anxiety that I was not safe. A freight truck dropped its tailgate with a loud boom and nearly sent me running for safety. A police siren blared (a very common sound in NYC), and I glanced around for a gunman headed my way. Maybe I have an anxiety disorder. Maybe we, as a society, have a collective anxiety order. Maybe there should be less in the world for us to be anxious about.

It’s a lot of mental noise to listen to all at once. There is so much wrong in the world, that I hardly know where to start. I simultaneously want to shield my children from all of the evil in the world, and prepare them for it so they are safe, and I cannot figure out how to do both. How do I tell them to hide, run, get down if they see someone with a gun, when I don’t even want them to know that there are crazy people out there shooting children in schools? How do I talk to them about this without scaring the ever-loving life out of them? I feel the pressure increase in my chest, and suddenly feel like I can’t breathe. I have to do something. There’s nothing I can do. These issues…these overpowering, seemingly unsolvable problems that plague us as a nation, as a society, as a species…what can I, as one person, do about any of them? I blog. I read the news. I share information. I sign up as a member of organizations that are “fighting the good fight.” I donate when finances allow. I vote with my conscience. It’s not enough. And I don’t know what else to do.

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/10/05/so-much-noise/feed/0anmllwyrThe Pigtail Paradoxhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/07/01/the-pigtail-paradox/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/07/01/the-pigtail-paradox/#respondWed, 01 Jul 2015 01:56:14 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/07/01/the-pigtail-paradox/Continue reading →]]> My kid is cute. Not just any-other-kid cute — She’s like, Gerber-baby cute. With pigtails in her hair, she pretty much melts the hearts of everyone we encounter. But she absolutely hates it when I put pigtails in her hair. She yells “no!” and runs away whenever I try.

It dawned on me the other day that by fighting her, and essentially forcing her to allow me to put her hair in pigtails, I am sending her a message that I stand so strongly against in theory, but apparently have not been able to avoid despite my best attempts. By forcing her to wear pigtails because she looks so damn adorable in them, I am basically telling her that her appearance is more important than her bodily integrity. I’m telling her that it’s more critical that the people around her (often complete strangers) think she looks cute than that she be comfortable in her own skin. I’m telling her that her opinion doesn’t matter — that all that matters is that she conform with society’s expectations of how she, as a little girl, should look.

When I think of it in those terms, it’s easy to say I will never attempt to put pigtails in her hair again. But what I will continue to struggle with is my own deeply-rooted belief that a little girl should look a certain way. I have noticed without question that people actually react to and treat her differently when her hair is in pigtails. It’s not as if she doesn’t get noticed without them. But when she has them, it’s a foregone conclusion that people will stop us to soak in her adorableness. As a mother, perhaps on some primal, instinctive level, I want the world to adore my children. I want them to stand out from the crowd as smarter, cuter, better…

It’s not an easy thing to admit that I want my kid to be better than yours, but there it is. I said it. And it’s equally difficult to admit that I may be willing to infringe upon my daughters autonomy over her own body to ensure that she is liked.

There’s a lot of research out there about society expecting women to be like-able. I’ve read a lot of it. I’m aware of the double standard. I know that the entrenched expectation that women be like-able leads to women being paid less than men, being held back professionally for being assertive in the workplace, to women feeling somehow less-than their male counterparts. And yet… I keep putting pigtails in my daughter’s hair against her will. It seems that it may be time for me to hold myself to the same standard I hold the rest of society to…to allow women complete autonomy over their bodies, and to reward strong-willed, assertive behavior, rather than suppressing it.

My daughter is strong-willed. She challenges me in ways that I never thought possible. She refuses the most basic requests with the lack of rationality that is all too common among toddlers. She knows what she wants, and perhaps more importantly, what she doesn’t, and she’s not afraid to express herself. These qualities, while challenging, are ones that I hope will persist as she grows up. I can only hope that she will maintain her self-confidence and belief that she should have ultimate control over what is done to her body, and over her appearance and the value that should be placed on it. I want her to grow up knowing that she is beautiful, in every conceivable way, no matter how she wears her hair, no matter how she chooses to dress, no matter how she chooses to allow others to interact with her physically. I want her to have the confidence to stand up for herself when she knows she’s right, even in the face of a society that says she shouldn’t.

As for me, I will continue down this path of introspection, and from now on, if she doesn’t want pigtails, there will be no pigtails.

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/07/01/the-pigtail-paradox/feed/0anmllwyrWe Got This! https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/we-got-this/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/we-got-this/#commentsWed, 29 Apr 2015 12:24:18 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/we-got-this/Continue reading →]]>If you’re anything like me, you are constantly feeling like you don’t have your shit together as a mom, and that all of the other moms around you do. It’s a constant, nagging voice in the back of my mind most days. I see moms out with their kids, smiling and playing, as if parenting is the easiest and most joyful thing in the world. And I think to myself, “Joyful? Yes, most of the time. Easy? Hell no!” Some days it’s a constant battle not to scream at my kids. Other days I struggle to remember to take care of myself. Everyday, I try to remind myself that things around me are often not what they appear.

Case in point…

A few months ago, my husband and I and our 2 young children met some friends in the city for lunch. We arrived at a “family-friendly,” yet pretty upscale restaurant on the upper west side of Manhattan only to find that they had screwed up our reservation. After some arguing about why our table could not accommodate both a high chair and a seat with a booster, we relented, and put our 4 year old in a regular adult chair. By the time we got to the table, I was already pretty fried.

Our friends, two couples who each had small children (one about 6 months old and not yet mobile, and one just under 2) seemed calm and content with our over-crowded, noisy location.

I spent the next hour sitting between my 4 year old and my 13 month old, frantically trying to keep them happy, fed, quiet, and relatively clean. This is no small feat, mind you. Kids are messy, and there was ketchup involved!

As I sat there, feeling somehow less together than the other two young moms at the table, I noticed something. They were in the same boat! I watched one mom visibly cringe and whisper to her husband for help as her 6 month old pulled a hot cup of coffee off the table and onto the two of them. And I caught the other mom quietly but quickly escape from the table after her 2 year old threw ketchup on her beautiful white sweater.

What I realized in that moment, is that for the most part, we are all pretty much faking it. We, as mothers put so much pressure on ourselves to be everything to everyone, to appear like motherhood is easy and fun at all times, and to never let on if we are anxious, unsure disasters on the inside, that we often fail to look around and notice that we are ALL putting on the same act.

So here it is…my confession du jour…I am a total, utter, and complete disaster about 90% of the time. About 10% of the time, I hit my stride. I am in the zone and parenting is a breeze. But the vast majority of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing. So if I appear like those moms who’ve got their shit together (which I highly doubt), please know that it’s not the reality you’re seeing. It’s a contrived, intentionally falsified persona who is simply trying to meet society’s expectations of what/who/how a mother should be.

Even typing that sentence makes me angry. Why the hell should we care what society expects moms to be??? My kids are loved, and they know it. Most of the time, they are happy. They are well cared for, listened to (and actually heard!), fortunate in both material and non-material possessions, and guided when needed and given freedom to figure things out on their own.

You know what all that means? It means that their dad and I are damn tired! We both work full time and do our best to parent well. It means that there are times when we will fail, and instead of being patient like we know we should, we will lose our cool and yell at our kids. It means we will serve them peanut butter, apples, and cheese for dinner some nights because it’s what they want, and frankly, we have no time or inclination to cook something that they won’t eat anyway. It means that I leave the house unshowered about 50% of the time, often forgetting to feed myself. It means I’ll look disheveled sometimes, but my kids rarely will.

So the next time you are feeling inadequate as a mom because the mother next to you appears to be showered, happy, and engaged without missing a beat, remind yourself that she’s probably just in her 10% zone, or she’s faking it. Hang in there, mamas! We got this.

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/we-got-this/feed/2anmllwyrThe Hundred Years’ (or maybe just 15 months’) Warhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/03/10/the-hundred-years-or-maybe-just-15-months-war/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/03/10/the-hundred-years-or-maybe-just-15-months-war/#respondTue, 10 Mar 2015 12:01:55 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/03/10/the-hundred-years-or-maybe-just-15-months-war/Continue reading →]]>My daughter is just over 15 months old. In her short life, she has learned to walk and to talk. She can dance and feed herself with a spoon. But among the life skills in her repertoire, there is one vital skill that is noticeably lacking – the ability to sleep. She has never slept through the night – ever. The longest stretch of sleep she has gotten in her entire life is 7 hours. The longest I have gotten is 4. Yes, you read that right. In over 15 months the longest stretch of sleep I have gotten is 4 hours, and that was the exception, not the rule. On an average night, she wakes up every 2 hours, or 4-6 times. So when you ask me how I am, and I respond “Ok. Tired.” it is a colossal understatement. ﻿

At this point, I am running on such a massive sleep deficit that it is thick and palpable, with black finger-like appendages that have permeated every single facet of my life. Sometimes I am emotionally volatile in ways that I never knew possible, lacking patience with myself and those around me. I over react on a daily basis. Other times, I am devoid of emotion altogether and apathetic to those around me.

Some days, I lack the mental acuity to answer even the most basic questions. Other days, I hit some sort of transcendent plateau of existence where I seem to have a higher sense of clarity and lucidity than the average person. On those days, my life feels surreal.

Most days, I trudge through, not quite sure how I am awake and functioning. I am in the trenches of a war that feels like it will never end, waiting for backup to arrive, but it seldom comes. And when it does, the enemy shoots it down quickly, putting me right back on the front lines. I am not sure how much longer I can hold the line. The enemy is fierce, and cute as hell, making my defeat all but certain.

﻿﻿

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2015/03/10/the-hundred-years-or-maybe-just-15-months-war/feed/0anmllwyrThe Privileged Manyhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/12/12/the-privileged-many/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/12/12/the-privileged-many/#respondFri, 12 Dec 2014 16:13:32 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/?p=472Continue reading →]]>In the wake of the recent uprising, protests, and general unrest over the Eric Garner and Michael Brown cases, I have begun some serious introspection into my world of white privilege. The issue is charged, to say the least. But if we don’t each, individually, begin to look at our lives, our attitudes, and the benefits that are bestowed upon us by virtue only of the color of our skin, then we are missing a unique opportunity to effectuate change. In the words of Peggy McIntosh from her essay White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Backpack, “In my class and place, I did not see myself as a racist because I was taught to recognize racism only in individual acts of meanness by members of my group, never in invisible systems conferring unsought racial dominance on my group from birth.” Prior to really paying attention to what is happening in this country, it had never occurred to me that I may be contributing to racism simply by accepting the privilege and dominance that were given to me at birth without my ever asking for them.

I have heard comments from white friends and acquaintances over the last month who believe that they are not part of the problem. “I am not a racist!” they emphatically cry at every opportunity. But I hear the same people trying to invalidate the personal accounts of so many of our African American friends, who are simply trying to get us to understand that their experience is, by virtue of a broken system, different than ours. Acknowledging that blacks in this country face a different life condition than I do does not threaten my ability to live a safe and happy life. Not acknowledging it, and instead dismissing it as untrue, does us all an injustice. It perpetuates the overarching, but misguided notion that it is OK to benefit from a system that holds you above others as long as you are not, individually, intentionally oppressing anyone else.

To begin my introspective journey, I am questioning every perception I have of minorities. If I’m totally honest, I am probably part of the problem, which I believe is a result of societal representations throughout my life.

It will take time and effort, but I am trying to reteach myself how to viscerally react to people of color. Now, when I seen an African American walking down the street in NY, I am forcing myself to think “I wonder of he/she has been the victim of profiling or other unjust treatment because of the color of his/her skin,” instead of giving in to the unfounded immediate fear I used to feel. Now, I am beginning to see a sadness behind the eyes of many of these people. I’m looking closer, both at them and within myself.

In her essay, Peggy McIntosh lists some of the ways white privilege manifests in her life. I was struck by the universality of the items on her list, and also began to think of other ways that I experience white privilege in the course of my daily life. I am going to begin acknowledging these publicly every time they occur to me, and I challenge all of you to do the same. I will be posting status updates on Facebook with the hashtag #thisiswhiteprivilege every time I find myself being advantaged by virtue of the color of my skin, whether it be to the obvious detriment of anyone else, or simply an indication of a more subtle, systemic advantage conferred upon me because I am white. Through individual introspection and collective dialogue, perhaps we can begin to raise our consciousness and move towards a world where we are all truly equal.

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/12/12/the-privileged-many/feed/0anmllwyrThen 4 Happenedhttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/10/28/then-4-happened/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/10/28/then-4-happened/#commentsTue, 28 Oct 2014 21:10:51 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/?p=445Continue reading →]]>Four. It’s a seemingly small number, but today it feels huge. You are four years old. It completely mystifies me that four years ago, you made me a mom. For that, you will forever and always hold a place in my heart that no one else can.

You are my smidge. And even though you’re growing at an alarming rate these days, you’re still so little. We tell you you’re a “big boy” and often demand that you behave like one, but truth be told, you’re still so little.

I see it in certain instances, like when I pick you up from school and you run towards me yelling “Mommy!” as you leap into my arms. And there are times when you unknowingly still call me “mama,” which makes my heart melt and break all at once. You’re at such a weird age right now. Sometimes you are still a baby. And others, you seem fully grown. Sometimes when I reach for your hand, you choose not to hold mine, but other times you insist that I carry you. I try to let you set the pace with these things, but I probably send you mixed signals about which direction I want you to go. It’s because I can’t choose myself!

The last year brought so much change with the arrival of your little sister, and along with it, the many, many tantrums and defiant behavior that come with being three. Let’s just say that just like everything else you do, you excelled at being three. You struggled. You wanted me to yourself. You didn’t want Little Roo around, especially at bedtime. But we got through it. And now, you maybe even like her a little! You’ve grown into a really good big brother, which I always knew you would be.

You’re a lot like me, and because of that, I understand where you’re coming from most of the time. You’re strong-minded, stubborn, and always want to be right. You want to be bigger, faster, smarter, and everything else “more” than anyone else. As you grow, I hope you can learn to harness the drive and desire to be “more” in a way that brings achievement rather than resentment. I’ll do what I can to help guide you in that direction.

You’re figuring out the rules of social interaction now too. It’s difficult, I know. There’s that one kid who you want to play with so badly, but who doesn’t treat you very nicely. And there’s the kid who wants to play with you, but who you don’t pay much attention to. I’m trying my very best to instill in you not to waste your time with anyone who doesn’t value you. I keep telling you “If someone doesn’t want to play with you, find another friend to play with. Just ignore him.” I worry that you will get caught up in the drama of wanting what you can’t have, which will not serve you well down the road. So every night, before bed, I remind you just how special you are, in the hopes that as you grow, this will be an intrinsic belief of yours.

Every night, I hold you on my lap in the chair in your room, and we talk. Some nights you don’t feel much like talking, so I just hold you for a bit and enjoy the silence, breathing in the little boy in you before he is consumed by the bigger one. Some nights, we talk about nonsensical stuff and laugh. But there are special nights, where we connect for real — nights where you give me the chance to pour my love all over you like a waterfall. The other night, we had a talk about what would happen if you got lost. I promised I’d always find you, and told you that moms can always find their kids. You asked “what if I get dead?” and I promised I would never let that happen, that I’d protect you no matter what and always keep you safe. I meant every word. I would give my life to save yours in an instant without a moment of hesitation.

You’ve got big, heavy questions brewing in the background of your mind these days. Daddy and I may not always have an easy answer for you, but we’ll always try to tell you the truth and to reassure you that the truth isn’t so bad. I hope that you will always talk to me, whether it’s in the still moments before you rest your head on your pillow, or as we drive in the car, or as you run in and out as older kids often do. Please know that you can always tell me anything. There is nothing you could ever do or say that would make me stop loving you. I promise.

You and your sister — you’re everything. You are my joy and my constant challenge all at once. You make me a better person than I knew I could be. You are more vital to me than the air I breath, and more precious than anything else. I love you all the way to the moon and back (in a red rocket ship with red rocket boosters) ten million, trillion, gazillion times plus infinity! Happy birthday sweet boy.

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/10/28/then-4-happened/feed/2anmllwyrIMG_2899-0.JPGHappy Birthday, Little Roohttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/10/25/happy-birthday-little-roo/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/10/25/happy-birthday-little-roo/#respondSat, 25 Oct 2014 14:11:49 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/?p=442Continue reading →]]>How is it possible that a year has passed since you arrived? Time is flying by so quickly that I can hardly keep up. But alas, Little Roo, you are a year old already! The last year has been a whirlwind of work and nursing and chasing your brother and nursing and chasing you and nursing and barely any sleeping at all. But it has, in its own way, been wonderful.

I look at you, and I see joy. I see unbridled, unfiltered love and curiosity. You are unyieldingly tenacious and gloriously stubborn in a way that I didn’t think was possible in such a young baby, but it will serve you well in life. You have already shown us that you go after what you want, and you don’t give up!

You are goofy and laugh at things that I would fail to see the humor in without you. You make your dad laugh easier than I’ve ever seen anyone else do. He walks in, your face lights up as you say “Dada!” and then his face lights up to match yours. It’s truly amazing.

You are an ideal baby in all respects except one…the sleep thing. Let’s talk about the sleep thing. You are an absolutely AWFUL sleeper! For a long time, you woke up every 45 minutes unless you were sleeping with me. Now, after a year, you’ll sleep for a few hours on your own before demanding to sleep with me or not at all. Truth be told, as much as I protest, a part of me loves to sleep with you. You are warm and cuddly, and it helps me feel close to you. But nonetheless, it would be great if before your next birthday you could figure out how to sleep through the night. Let’s work on that, ok?

You are chatting up a storm. You can say mama and dada and boo, cat, and dog. You can ask for more and tell me you’re all done. You refuse to call your brother anything besides “beh” which we can’t quite seem to figure out but accept anyway. You adore him. You watch his every move with wonder and awe, and the second you are both on the floor together, you climb on him.

I need you to know that I feel a connection with you that I have never felt before. When you were just under 2 months old, as I sat in the sleepless haze of a dark, warm room nursing you to sleep, I wrote this, and I’ve felt this way since the moment you were born:
“I believe that I am interminably connected to you in a way that no other two people are, except maybe me and my own mother. I would know you anywhere. I believe that in a dark room filled with a thousand babies, I would find you in an instant. You are my blood and my blood is you.”

Maybe it’s because you’re a girl, and I feel like I understand the struggles you will face more than I can with your brother. Or maybe it’s because you’re the baby, and my last chance at this motherhood thing. There’s a savoring that happens with a child when you know he or she is your last baby. I am more acutely aware of the fleetingness of it all than I was with the first, so I stop and live in the moment, enjoying the sweet smell of baby on you whenever I get the chance. All too soon, you’ll be running alongside your brother, and I won’t be able to fully breath in your babyness anymore. It’ll be a scent that I try to remember, but can’t quite grasp.

Whatever the reason or reasons, the connection is there, and it runs deeper than I anticipated. It’s difficult to put into words. It’s like there is a string tied directly from my heart to yours, and it carries all of the feelings you feel to my heart so that I can feel them too. It’s just a knowing, a familiarity, a truth, that I haven’t felt before.

You and your brother are the light of my life. You give me purpose and remind me what’s truly important in life every single day. I love you with all my heart and I cannot wait to see what the next year brings. I love you Little Roo. Happy birthday sweet girl.

I know that I must seem like an over-tired, cranky, anxious, judgmental slob these days.

I know that sometimes my words sting, even though I don’t mean them to. It’s just that I’m used to saying sternly “Eat your dinner. Put on your shoes. Are you listening to me?” and I’m too tired most of the time to remember to soften my tone when I go from mommy-mode to wife-mode.

I know that I am hyper-focused on our two young children, often at the expense of listening to and conversing with you the way that you deserve. It’s just that when there’s a 3 year old screaming “Mommy, can you please get me more milk RIGHT NOW?!?” and a baby crying for me to pick her up, sometimes it’s hard to hear anything else.

I know that I must seem critical of your every move sometimes, suggesting (politely or not) that you hold the baby this way, talk to the 3 year old that way, dress the baby in this or the other, but definitely not that! It’s just that I get into a sort of motherhood groove (call it a ditch if you want) and I sometimes forget that there’s more than one “right” way to do things.

I know that I fly in at the end of the day like a panic-stricken, anxiety-ridden, the-world-is-crumbling-around-me kind of disaster some days. It’s just that I am worried that I won’t get everything done in time to get that baby to bed before she loses her proverbial shit and decides to stay awake for hours past her bedtime. And the thought of even less sleep than I am already getting sends me for a tailspin. Sometimes I forget that I don’t have to do it all alone, even though you’re standing in front of me telling me that.

I know that I sometimes swoop in and take over parenting tasks that you are more than capable of and totally willing to do, and then I get overwhelmed because I just can’t do it all. It’s just that I feel guilty as hell for being away from the kids all day, and I feel like I have to give them every single moment of time that I possibly can to even begin to make up for it.

I know that I am no longer the young, self-assured woman that you fell in love with 9 years ago. It’s just that this parenting thing is hard, and sometimes it shakes my confidence to the core.

I know that I don’t put much, if any, effort into my appearance these days. When I’m not at work, I’m usually wearing whatever is comfortable, easy to nurse in, and still fits me in spite of the extra 10 pounds of baby weight I’m still carrying 10 months after the baby was born. It’s just that I have no time these days to work out. Most days I’m shoving whatever vegetarian, non-dairy food I can find into my mouth so quickly that I don’t even taste it, let alone contemplate its calories and the effect it may have on my body. I know that this is a far cry from my attitude and appearance when we were married 5 years ago.

I know I don’t exude sexiness. Like, ever. It’s just that I’m so tired from being up with the baby every single night that sex is, sadly, very seldom on my mind.

I know I’m different. I know the person you are married to these days may be someone you don’t always recognize. I may or may not be someone you would have chosen if you had known. You never let on and you would never give voice to these feelings if you have them, even though I suspect that you do. But here’s the thing…I will be back. I promise you that some day soon, when the baby is sleeping and the tantrums have passed, when bedtimes are later and the kids aren’t so clingy, when I manage to get some time to focus on me, rather than on them, that I will be able to focus on you again too. When nursing is done and the house isn’t riddled with tiny things to step on or choke on, when the kids can get their own damn milk from the refrigerator and get themselves dressed in the morning, when I’ve slept for more than 3 hours at a stretch the night before, I will give you my undivided attention. So if you can stick it out with me until then, I promise I will be back and better than ever. I hope that the woman you fell in love with, and the one I will be then with a whole wealth of experience and mothering accomplishments under her belt, will be worth the wait. Thank you for waiting for me to come back. I love you.

So this Labor Day, when you’re drinking your beer, please have one for me, we’ll be spreading no cheer.

Whatever the time, you can be sure we’re awake. Please think of us and enjoy your break!

]]>https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/08/30/happy-freakin-labor-day/feed/2anmllwyrA Different Villagehttps://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/07/23/a-different-village/
https://corismusings.wordpress.com/2014/07/23/a-different-village/#commentsWed, 23 Jul 2014 01:24:53 +0000http://corismusings.wordpress.com/?p=431Continue reading →]]>I dream of a different village.
One where dads kiss boo boos as often as moms, and where it’s understood that moms are as capable of designing nuclear reactors as they are of making bread.
One where every boss understands that there are some jobs that only a mom can do and also that sometimes dad should leave early to pick up the sick child at school.
A world where we all agree that our daughters as well as our sons need to see mothers do so much more than bake bread, care for children, and socialize with other women. They need to see us use our minds and not just wear down our bodies.
Motherhood can be cripplingly isolating. Regression to a time when women were viewed as unworthy, incapable of, and unnecessary for any other contributions to society is not the answer. Expanding the “village” to include men and to recognize the vast potential of women in all facets of society by providing the support, flexibility, and opportunity is. Demanding more of fathers is. Raising the level of discourse on systemic gender inequality and discrimination is.

So today, I won’t invite you over for tea or bread. Today, I’ll meet you in the board room. Please feel free to bring your daughter.